


Wagner

by stunningepiphanies



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4967353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stunningepiphanies/pseuds/stunningepiphanies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1963: Gaby and Illya go undercover at the Opera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wagner

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a prompt I got on tumblr. The person wanted to see Gabs and Illya at the opera! The first draft was okay, but I wanted to touch a little more on some Russo-Germanic hot buttons that were just begging to be pressed. 
> 
> This _can_ be seen as a part of 1990-verse, but it works as a standalone as well! You choose.

"Gaby, if I die tonight, tell them I died with my honor." He took her small hands in his, brow creased with concern. "I won't give in."

For his trouble, the only reply Illya got was a very hard slap to the sternum with a beaded clutch. "Don't be a baby, Kuryakin. There is absolutely nothing wrong with Lohengrin."

"Still Wagner, th- ow!" And another clutch beating for the Russian. If this kept up, he was going to have a nice square bruise on his chest by midnight.

Of course, Gaby knew full well why they were more likely to find their Nazi targets at a Wagner performance, especially one nestled right in Austria. A little obvious, she thought, but monied fascists never were ones for subtleties. She almost would have preferred to be in Buenos Aires- this was too dangerous, too close to home. The closer she got to Germany, the more terrified she became of discovery. Of course, none of her friends or coworkers could've made it over the wall, but what if someone had? What if an official recognized her? 

No amount of stress bubbling in her stomach could squash her excitement, though. Gaby loved Wagner, with a surprising ferocity. Both of her parents loved him, too, dearly. Her earliest memories- before she understood the war and before the Russians and the wall came down with an iron first, before it all went shades of grey and fear- were colored with Wagner, her father playing his old records of the Ring cycle while she played dress up with her many pretty dolls. She remembers her mother singing along softly, too, while she taught Gaby to braid her hair and dress herself like a good German girl. Those dolls and dresses were all covered by Nazi money, she knew now, but she was still reluctant to tarnish those memories with blood and hate. Maybe she should've been ashamed, but they were the only good ones she had as a child. 

Neither spy spoke again until they reached their private box for the evening. More practical that way, Waverly had said. Though they were in full view, they had a full view of the entire audience below and into the other boxes. Gaby took a moment to survey the crown silently filing in before she took her seat. There was Dr Lange on the opposite side of the theater, target number one. And the wives of a particularly nasty group of Argentinian lawyers there on the floor. More fanatical than their ex Nazi husbands, or so the story went.

"This place is full of Nazis," her partner grumbled, and he practically slammed into his seat with a hard lined frown.He looked more like an annoyed teenager than a grown adult man on a very important mission. "Full of Germans."

"Yes," she agreed, sitting with a little more grace, "and that is why we are here. To find them. It's our job." Gaby gave his cheek a little condescending pat, and pulled two pairs of opera glasses out of her clutch. Illya took one, but tucked it into his tuxedo jacket with a little twitch in his fingers. 

Gaby rolled her eyes, but said nothing about his behavior. He always got this way when there were Nazis around. Not that she could blame him, but sometimes….with her family history, she wondered if he didn't feel a little of that resentment towards her as well.

It wasn't just her family, though. Illya never seemed to fond of Germans, wherever they went. He always had a little jab or, more often, absolute silence directed at any German operatives they worked with. He never liked to speak German either, though she knew full we he could speak it just as well as the English he insisted on when the three of them were alone. It....well. It made her stomach twist in knots. 

Of course, whenever she heard Russian fall from his mouth, it twisted unpleasantly in her ear. But that was understandable, she thought. She had reason to avoid the language, considering. Illya on the other hand was just being immature. 

"You take the floor," she said, pointing with her glasses down at the now full theatre floor. "I'm going to take the balconies. You're taller, anyway, you can see over the wall better." Illya just shook his head and settled further into his chair. "No," he disagreed, waving off her look of annoyance with one large hand, "I will take nap. Wake me for intermission. Then I will be able to concentrate without this...screaming."

Well. That felt personal.

"Fine. Arschloch."

Gaby didn't even bother to answer his confused and affronted snort, she just sat back and tried to enjoy their night of work. Even a gentle touch at her elbow wasn't enough to get her to turn. If he didn't want to do his job, fine. She'd just do it all herself. 

\---

Forty five minutes later, she felt hot breath against her neck. While normally she would've leaned into it, found the solid wall of man that followed the heat, she had no desire to encourage his childish behavior. Gaby leaned away, shooting her partner a look that could possibly light his hair on fire. "What on earth are you doing?"

The Russian just shook his head, leaning in closer to whisper. "Gaby, I am sorry. For whatever I did to offend you." It wasn't too good as aplogies went, but it was an attempt. Gaby was ready to give him, just barely, but to her surprise he kept talking. "I understand you are German, but this is not….you. You understand?"

"What? Not German? I'm still German, Illya, no matter how much you hate it."

He blanched, drawing away from her a bit. "No, I don't- that is not what I meant, Gaby." 

After a moment of stunned silence, Gaby turned full around in her seat to face Illya, still a little angry. "My mother's favorite opera was Lohengrin." She spared a look at the stage, then back to the mountain of a man staring down at her. "It reminds me of her." She didn't particularly love it, but again, there's something to be said for nostalgia. 

At least Illya had enough shame to look slightly horrified with himself. She couldn't tell in the dim light of the theatre, but she would almost say he blushed. "Oh. I.….I didn't…" He opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking remarkably like a goldfish out of water. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"Yes." He relaxed then, no longer desperate for a way out of a trap of his own making. "I watch Swan Lake every year with my mother. Is not opera, but similar." 

"Yes," Gaby agreed, trying desperately to squash the little smile creeping across her lips as she turned back to the stage. He still didn't deserve it. "I guess it is."

**Author's Note:**

> There was, in fact, a recording of this opera in Austria in 1963, but not a performance apparently. But hey, we can bend the truth a little bit.


End file.
